The Three R's
by vcg73
Summary: Probably set somewhere between Season 2 and 3. Rodney, Ronon and Radek spend a bit of quality time together.
1. One Man’s Pleasure is Another Man's Pain

**A/N: I had an urge to write a friendship Fic featuring Rodney McKay and Ronon Dex, just because there don't seem to be that many opportunities for these two to interact without the impetus of galactic destruction. Then, just for the heck of it, I threw Radek Zelenka in with them. Thus the title.**

"Oh, come on!"

The familiar high-pitched whine drew immediate smiles and a few grimaces of commiseration as assorted scientists glanced up toward Dr. Weir's open office door. Whenever Weir was having a conference with Dr. Rodney McKay it was not unusual for everybody within twenty yards of her office to be able to hear what was being said, at least on Rodney's part. The over-excitable genius didn't seem to have a volume control, and God knew he wasn't shy about sharing his opinions. Unless directed at them, Rodney's diatribes had become a source of great amusement for the Atlantis control room personnel.

Much to their disappointment, the office door shut, cutting off the rest of the argument before anyone could get the gist of what it was about. With a sigh, everyone went back to work, but they perked up again a few minutes later when Ronon Dex strode across the upper deck and knocked on Weir's door, barely waiting for her invitation before entering the office.

Rodney's voice raised and lowered several times, and when he stormed out of the office a few minutes later with a red face and a murderous expression, followed at leisure by a playfully smirking Ronon, no one even pretended not to be watching. Rodney never noticed the attention, too busy grumbling under his breath and waving his hands as he evidently continued the argument inside his head, walking right past the control operations and out.

Braver than many of his colleagues, Radek Zelenka dared to ask as Ronon walked past the station where he was running diagnostics, "What was that about?"

The large Satedan stopped, resting hip-shot against the control station. The amused smile still lit his eyes as he replied simply, "McKay's going to join me for a few workouts. Do a little sparring maybe. Gotta stay in good shape to go on missions."

Mouths gaped and eyes widened. Any temptation to laugh was quelled by the former Runner's measuring glance as he eyed all of the other scientists, clearly noting how many of them were in need of toning and toughening. Though it was McKay who most often was called upon to go off-world, many of them had also been called upon when new discoveries were unveiled in the Pegasus galaxy. And if their stubborn, fast-talking, ridiculously intelligent superior had not been able to talk his way out of this fate, how much worse were their own chances?

Clearly enjoying the reaction, Ronon winked and straightened up, continuing on his way.

Over the buzz of worried conversations floating around the control room, Radek watched the Satedan's exit with a thoughtful expression upon his face.


	2. Misery Loves Company

Rodney fumed as he paced back and forth on the wide practice mat, unconsciously adding a bit more spring to each step as the cushioned surface supported his weight. He had, as directed, arrived dressed in sweat-pants, gym shoes and a t-shirt, but every article he had chosen was featureless black, a mute declaration for anyone who cared to look that his cooperation had ended there.

Crossed arms drew even tighter against Rodney's chest as his tense shoulders hunched, making it appear that he was trying to pull his head between those shoulders, like a turtle retreating inside of its shell.

"I hear that you are scheduled to learn hand to hand fighting today."

Rodney spun at the unexpected voice behind him, nearly losing his balance in the process. He scowled, just daring Zelenka to laugh at his small stumble. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be blowing up a lab somewhere?"

"I have this afternoon free from duty," the Czech scientist said mildly. "You approved the time off yourself."

Waving off the reminder, Rodney resumed his pacing. "Right, right, Carson and his insistence that everyone is working too hard and needs more free time." A tiny snort showed his view of the Scottish physician's diagnosis. Abruptly, his frenetic motion ceased, a hopeful expression lighting up his face as he took a better look at the Czech and realized that Zelenka was also dressed for a workout. "You got drafted into this too, didn't you?"

"We are reminded all too often of our own vulnerability here, even those of us who do not normally leave our research to go on planetary excursions. I asked Elizabeth why she felt that you were in need of better conditioning, since you have proven yourself hardy enough thus far." His smile turned rueful. "I was trying to do you a favor, but somehow, she took my words as a suggestion that I could benefit from some martial instruction myself. I think she has been spending too much time around Colonel Sheppard."

A bit more of the built-up tension left Rodney's broad shoulders as he huffed, "Probably. To G.I. Joe, this is a fun afternoon. 'Cause you never know when a good karate chop might come in handy against a Wraith." His hand lifted in a mock demonstration as he spoke. "At least this way we can give 'em some entertainment before they suck the life out of us. Nothing like dinner and a show, right?"

"Better that than to lie down and die having given no fight at all," Radek replied quietly.

A startled blink showed that the other man was considering his words. "I don't know about that, but I suppose there is at least some benefit to you being here. If I throw you in front of me, Ronon might take a few extra minutes before he beats me into jelly."

The small scientist frowned. Sometimes it was impossible to tell whether or not Rodney was joking.

"Hey, you made it."

The two scientists broke eye contact at the gruff greeting. Ronon looked curiously at Zelenka, then just shrugged, unconcerned at finding two workout partners where he had only expected to see one.

"We'll just start with something easy, since you don't know what you're doing." Ronon paused to look appraisingly at Zelenka, who shook his head. "Either of you."

Predictably, Rodney bristled. "How do you know I don't know what I'm doing? And how come you gave _him_ the benefit of the doubt?"

Ronon met the sparking blue gaze calmly. "I've seen you run, McKay. You've got all the grace of a dreezle in springtime."

"A what?"

The man held up his hands, palms about three feet apart. "About this big, four legs, real slow, mostly get eaten by predators." Seeing that Rodney was about to object again, Ronon backhanded him in the chest, hard enough to draw forth a soft 'ow' of protest. "That's why you're here, to see if we can't toughen you up enough to give the predators second thoughts."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled. Still clearly feeling that he was getting the wrong end of this deal, Rodney once again crossed his arms, chin lifting defiantly. "How come Elizabeth was so quick to offer me up to be your punching bag for a day, but you don't have to do anything?"

Curious, he asked, "Like what?"

Sensing a possible reprieve, Rodney pressed. "It's not fair that I have to do what you do, while you don't you have to do anything I do. I mean, what if I hadn't been with you on that last mission? Could you have disassembled, reconfigured and reassembled a DHD in under ten minutes with three Wraith Darts buzzing above your head and Sheppard yelling in your earpiece?"

Trying to keep the peace, Radek cut in, "Rodney, even I couldn't have done that in so short a time, and I know how the components work."

"That's because you're not as smart as me," he shot back smugly. "The point is, you do know how to do it. If Captain Caveman here can't shoot, punch or wrestle something into submission, he's out of options."

The Satedan's spine straightened, making him appear even taller and more imposing than usual. "Are you calling me stupid?"

Rodney's smug look lasted about two more seconds, until it occurred to him that he was insulting a man who had just been given permission to whip him into shape. "Well, no, not stupid . . . exactly. Just, maybe more like . . . ignorant . . . that is to say, basically, somewhat intelligent but . . . I mean, it's not like you couldn't have figured out something if you'd had a couple of hours, right? Um . . ." He backed up a step, seeing Ronon's eyes narrow.

"Why don't you take a couple of laps around the workout room and warm up," the Satedan suggested in a dangerously soft voice. "And then we'll get started."

McKay was not the most intelligent man on Atlantis for nothing. Snagging Radek by the sleeve, he turned on his heel and ran. Zelenka did his best to keep up as McKay sprinted away with speed borne of panic. Neither scientist noticed that their instructor was watching with sparkling eyes, nodding to himself, as if in agreement with something.


	3. No Pain, No , , , Aw Forget It

"What in bloody hell have you three been doing to yourselves?" Carson Beckett demanded, staring in disbelief at the guilty-looking trio who had just meandered into his infirmary.

"I was teaching them to fight," Ronon admitted, peering down at the doctor as best he could with his head tipped back, right thumb and forefinger pinching off his still-bleeding nostrils. A magnificent black eye was forming just above his swollen purpled cheek-bone, but in spite of his injuries the warrior was grinning. He jostled McKay with his elbow. "They did okay."

Beckett blinked in disbelief. "You're telling me Rodney did that to you?" The Scotsman looked at the man in question, noting the goose-egg on his forehead and the pain-filled squint of his eyes. "I don't suppose I need to ask what he hit you with."

Without bothering to confirm the physician's guess, Rodney moved to the nearest empty bed and flopped onto it. "Ice," he groaned. "Just give me ice and some aspirin and let me die in peace."

When Ronon simply shrugged, Beckett turned to the third member of the party, who was cradling his right wrist and muttering a soft continuous stream of foreign words under his breath. "And I suppose you broke their fall afterward."

A ghost of a smile, rueful but nonetheless amused, twitched Zelenka's lips. "Not exactly. I had grown tired. I lost my footing and punched Rodney in the back of the head, causing him to pitch forward and head-butt Ronon in the face."

"Crude but effective," Beckett commented dryly, struggling not to smile as he worked to stuff cotton up the Satedan's bleeding nostrils. "And how is it you didn't get out of the way in time, Ronon?"

He chuckled. "Stupid, huh? I saw him coming at me and tried to catch him instead of just letting him fall to the mat."

"So instead of a nice soft landing, I flattened him and then Radek crashed on top of us both. One big squashed McKay sandwich," Rodney pouted. Glancing at his apologetic-looking science colleague, he demanded, "What the hell have you been eating, anyway? There's no way a little guy like you should weight that much."

"Look who is talking," he shot back. "I'm surprised poor Ronon did not break his ribs when you landed upon him, Dr. Hypoglycemia-if-I-do-not-eat-every-ten-minutes McKay."

Rodney sat up with the intention of flinging back a stinging retort, but forgot all about it as he paled and swayed in place. "Whoa."

Zelenka also forgot his anger as he jumped forward in concern to steady his friend. "Rodney, are you all right?"

Dr Beckett also came forward, easing Rodney back down. "Easy, lad," he crooned, grapping a pen light and shining it in the scientist's eyes. "You just sat up a wee bit too fast. Not a good idea after whacking your head. Your pupils are even and I don't believe you've got a concussion but I'd forget about any more sparring sessions for the rest of the day."

Those words had Rodney relaxing back onto the bed with a relieved smile that turned into a wince when he reached up and touched the bump on his forehead.

"I'll just get you something for that headache," Beckett offered. He cast a stern look at the other two patients. "But what I said goes for all of you. There's to be no more running around and fighting out of any of you today."

Radek smiled and grew bold enough to knock Rodney's legs out of his way so that he could hop up to a seat on the bottom of the diagnostic bed. Rodney scowled but offered no real objection. Ronon was the only person who appeared disappointed by the order, but he nodded to Beckett as the doctor left the room to fetch pain-killers. "So," he said after a moment's pause. "What do you guys want to do next?"

Without moving the rest of his body, Rodney raised his head and gave him an incredulous look. "Next? Wasn't this enough?"

"Neither one of you is working today. And thanks to you, my schedule just got cleared. Might as well hang out and do something else."

"You did express irritation at having to work out without a promise of payback," Radek reminded Rodney.

McKay shot him an irritated look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The Czech merely smiled.

"With this headache, I don't feel like going through Ancient technological schematics, much less baby-stepping you through them," Rodney mused, revealing the activity he had been planning. Sounding a bit petulant he said, "Elizabeth ordered me to take a day off from the labs anyway."

Ronon considered his options. "Food?"

"Naturally," Radek snorted. When both of his companions glared at him, he raised his uninjured hand in a gesture of supplication. "Is good to follow exertion with a meal, but that will hardly take up the entire afternoon."

Beckett reentered the room and set down the tray he had carried in with him. He handed each of his patients pills and a cup of water, following up with one ice-pack for Rodney's head, one for Ronon's cheek and a third for Radek's wrist. "Swallow those down and keep the ice in place until the pain settles," he ordered. "Dr. Zelenka, just give me a moment to wrap up that sprain and then the three of you can take yourselves off to the mess-hall and get out of my hair."

All three breathed an unconscious sigh of relief at the dismissal, having feared that the ever-thorough physician would demand a longer stay. His casual attitude, more than anything else, told them that no serious injuries had been incurred.

"Got any movies?" Ronon asked a few minutes later as the three men trudged down to the dining hall together.

A bit surprised, Rodney asked, "You like movies?"

"Sure."

"I have the extended-edition of "Dr. Zhivago" in my quarters," Radek offered.

Rodney made a face. "Sure, if Carson had ordered us all to take a nap for the next four hours."

"Dracula?"

"Not enough life-sucking alien creatures in this galaxy for you?"

"Predator?"

"Explosions, gunfire and a pounding headache. Hmm, bad combo. Besides, Schwarzenegger is battling a dreadlocked alien killing machine. Think about it."

"Good point. What about 'Pretty Woman'?"

"Tell me you're kidding."

Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Radek objected, "Julia Roberts is hot."

Rodney paused. "Is that the movie with the slinky red dress?"

"And the high-heel boots and mini-skirt."

Turning to Ronon, he asked, "What do you think? Isn't watching chick-flicks against the warrior code or something?"

Noting that he sounded hopeful, Ronon replied, "Got any cartoons?"

A startled laugh escaped. "Seriously?"

"Sheppard had one called "Shrek". It was cool. Never seen anything like it."

Rodney considered this. Now and then it was easy to forget that Ronon was not from Earth and wouldn't be familiar with things the rest of them took for granted. "I do have the sequel. Came in the last care-package from the Daedalus." Ever since the Atlantis Expedition had reinitiated regular contact with Earth, supply runs had frequently included small pieces of home. Ronon nodded his acceptance and Radek shrugged, voicing no objection. "Sounds like we have a winner. Anybody know what's for lunch today?"

With a sly smile, Radek replied, "I believe it is the orange-glazed chicken today."

Ronon smirked. "I hear they're having something called lemon meringue pie for dessert."

"Oh, you'll like that. It is delicious. Don't you agree, Rodney?"

McKay's face worked comically, shifting back and forth between indignation and dismay, not quite sure whether to believe them. Then, as they reached the mess hall, he scowled. The Czech had only been joking but the reality was just as bad. A sign on the wall read 'Lemon Chicken' as the day's selection. And the dessert advertised was, "Key lime pie? Are they _trying_ to kill me?"

Ronon slapped him on the back. "I'll let you have my popcorn when we watch the movie."

Rodney sighed unhappily and thanked God for MRE's.


	4. Finding Common Interests

Much to Rodney's relief, there had been a second choice on offer for lunch. Within minutes, happily stuffed with lemon chicken, lasagna (for Rodney), mashed potatoes, green salad and as many desserts as they had been able to lay hands on, the three men set out for an afternoon of movie watching.

They reached Radek's quarters first, where the small man paused. "I will meet you both at Rodney's in fifteen minutes," he promised. Plucking at the stiff material of his workout shirt in disgust, he added, "I think we could all use a chance to clean up if we are going to spend the afternoon together in one small room."

Ronon had not even broken a sweat while dealing with the two scientists but as he looked over the still damp material of Rodney's black t-shirt, he grunted, "Yep."

A scowl stole over Rodney's features but he could not disagree with the assessment. "Make it twenty minutes. I'll have the movie ready when you get there."

"Right," Radek agreed. As he disappeared inside his room and the other two started forward again, Ronon asked, "You want to invite Sheppard and Teyla to join us?"

"Can't," Rodney said around a leftover chocolate chip cookie he had just popped in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed noisily and continued, "They were heading for the mainland to visit the Athosian village this afternoon. Sheppard promised to take some of the kids for Jumper rides while Teyla participated in a council meeting."

The warrior grunted. "Forgot." A pained grimace flickered over his face. "Sounded boring."

"The meeting or the babysitting?"

"Both. I don't have much patience with kids, less with councilors."

Rodney grinned. "And here I thought it was just me."

The big man shrugged. "Don't hate kids, just not very comfortable with 'em. Teyla says I lack experience."

A snort was the physicist's response to that. "People have told me the same thing but I didn't buy it. I didn't like being around kids, even when I was one." A thoughtful look came over him. "Though, come to think of it, I wasn't very good with adults either."

"Still aren't," Ronon replied blandly, returning his companion's irritated glare with an amused smirk. He gestured at the door they had just reached. "See you in twenty."

Rodney appeared surprised that they had reached the door to his quarters already. "Oh, right. Hey," he called out as Ronon started to disappear around the end of the corridor. The warrior stopped and looked back with a raised eyebrow. "I'm going to hold you to that offer of extra popcorn."

Ronon just grinned.

A couple of hours later, stuffed to the gills with popcorn and warm with laughter over the movie, all three of the men were in a much improved mood. 'Shrek 2' had proved to be a big hit with Ronon, and Rodney and Radek had derived much entertainment from explaining what was going on whenever the fairy-tale references eluded him. They had laughed as much at watching Ronon chortle and grin as his understanding and consequent enjoyment of the movie grew, as they had over the film itself. The Satedan had proven to have a quick mind and a surprisingly good sense of humor.

"That was better than the first one," he commented as the last of the credits rolled. "I liked the Puss in Boots character. You used to have one of those, didn't you, McKay?"

Rodney nodded. "Not exactly like that one. Real cats don't talk and they don't wear clothes or fight with swords." The smile grew a bit wistful. "But they do make really loyal friends."

"You must miss him," Radek said, nodding as he saw McKay tense, obviously preparing himself to be made fun of. "I, too, am a cat person by nature. My family had dogs when I was growing up, but I always managed to keep a couple of cats as well. I had to pass them to my sister for safekeeping when I joined the Atlantis expedition."

Rodney relaxed. "A neighbor is looking after mine."

"Haven't had an animal since I was a kid," Ronon revealed, settling back more comfortably in his borrowed chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. "Not a lot of people did on Sateda. Not when there was always a food shortage and a good chance that a culling could wipe out half your population at any time. People did the best they could, but there wasn't a lot of extra time and resources. I joined the local military as soon as I was of age, anyway."

"A life that would not leave much time for pets," Radek said, nodding.

One muscular shoulder shrugged. "Not much." He smiled. "Had to wait until I got here. Found some pet scientists to look after."

"Oh, ha, ha," Rodney replied. He was aiming for acerbic but his current warm, comfortable and well-fed state stole the edge away. He was lying on a sofa that had been here when he had taken over this room, his body sunk deep into the softness of the cushions. The Ancients had been a society dedicated to scientific, military, and spiritual advancement but some among them had clearly been dedicated to creature comforts as well. The furniture discovered in many of the abandoned living quarters had been not only remarkably well preserved, but also amazingly comfortable. Half-hoping they might just leave him here to indulge in hedonistic pleasure for a few more hours, he asked, "You want to do anything else, or should we call it a day?"

"How's your head?"

Automatically, he reached up to touch the bump, wincing when he touched it. "Still hurts a little but nothing like before."

Ronon turned to Radek. "You?"

He glanced at his bandaged wrist. "I will not be going bowling anytime soon," he quipped, "but I will be fit for duty in the morning."

"Better be," Rodney said around a huge yawn.

Radek ignored him. "And you, Ronon? How are you feeling?"

He gestured vaguely toward his bruised cheek. "This is nothing."

"In that case, I must admit that all bruising aside, I am rather enjoying this day," Zelenka admitted with a smile. "I vote for continuing on."

"Sounds good to me," Ronon said, already hauling himself out of the chair and bouncing on the balls of his feet in eager readiness for something new to do.

Seeing that he had been outvoted before he even put up an argument, Rodney gave his sofa a fond pat in farewell, then rolled his reluctant body out of its depths. Straightening his clothing, he looked at Ronon. "So, about that payback. Feel up to trying a couple of fun scientific experiments?"

"Fun?" he repeated doubtfully, obviously feeling that 'fun' and 'science' were mutually exclusive concepts.

"Mm. We'll start with something easy, since you don't know what you're doing," Rodney snarked, deliberately mimicking Ronon's words from earlier. He considered the taller man for a moment, pondering. Then, a slow smile curved his lips. "You used to build traps for the Wraith, didn't you? Ever designed a catapult?"

Radek looked alarmed when a matching grin spread across Ronon's face. His two friends suddenly looked like a pair of mischievous little boys. "Don't you think that might be dangerous?"


	5. Genius At Work

"How about this?"

"Too brittle. The force of the release would break it in half."

"This one appears to be more flexible."

"Hmm, maybe. Put it on the pile."

"This piece might make a good platform for the ammunition."

"Radek, we're building a catapult, not a flying saucer."

"What's a flying saucer?" Ronon grunted.

"Um . . . ask Morgan in Hydroponics if he still has that copy of 'The Day the Earth Stood Still'. You'll understand once you've seen it."

"Morgan the guy who always looks like he's about to have a heart attack?"

"Yeah. It's the goggly eyes. It's freaky how he never blinks." A triumphant whoop came from the pile of cast off odds and ends that Rodney had been digging through. There were scraps of wood, plastic, fiberglass, metal and every other sort of material in the storage room off the main science lab. No one ever knew when a seemingly useless item might later prove useful. Rodney held up two long sections of thin metal. "This will make the perfect brace for our cross-section."

Radek came up with a boxy section of wood. "How about this?"

"Looks like a good platform to me," Ronon decided before Rodney could come up with another flaw in his colleague's chosen material. "Long as we don't fling anything too heavy."

Rodney pursed his lips, considering the piece as he mentally catalogued it with all of the other supplies they had put together. Then he nodded. "Good. A few bolts and screws to hold it all together and we're in business."

"If you're going to build a traditional medieval catapult, you shouldn't need bolts and screws," Radek pointed out, smirking at the annoyed look on McKay's face. "Or can you not manage without modern aid?"

"You want to waste the whole day whittling wooden pegs and boring holes with your handmade awl, Amish boy, you go right ahead. Ronon and I are going to go have some fun."

Chuckling to himself, Ronon gathered the assorted pieces of building material into the box they'd chosen for their platform and followed McKay out the door.

"Wait for me!" Radek protested, hastily scooping up a bag of empty artillery shells, very similar to fist sized cannonballs, that had been included in trade-goods from one of the first off-world missions. They were small, light, and pretty much useless to the Atlantis expedition, as no one had been able to think of a good use for them. Until now.

*~*~*~*~*

They had chosen one of the dozens of sea view balconies that surrounded Atlantis. The towering glass parapets of the main hub of the city rose tall and graceful above their heads. It was a beautiful sight, but the Satedan warrior and the two Earth scientists had no eyes for its beauty today. They were fully absorbed in the construction of their masterpiece.

With Zelenka's right hand temporarily out of commission, he could do little more than pass out parts with his left hand and supervise, but that did not prevent him from taking a keen interest in the project.

Rodney sat cross-legged on the deck, giving occasional directions with demonstrative flails of his agile fingers, while otherwise busy with his own piece of the construction. He was not shy about taking charge when a situation called for it, barking crisp clear orders with a ferocity that could put a marine drill instructor to shame, but truthfully, Rodney was much happier doing the work himself. Right now, absorbed in explaining basic physics principals to Ronon, who was an attentive student judging by the speed at which the catapult was coming into shape, attention focused on building something from nothing and elbows-deep in spare parts, Rodney McKay looked more relaxed than Radek had ever seen him before.

Glancing at Ronon, the Czech smiled. He looked pretty happy himself, enjoying the opportunity to learn something new that didn't require anything but strength of hands and precise attention to detail. Hands-on participation was much more his style than sitting around a table talking and waiting for something interesting to happen.

Handing the warrior a length of supple stretchy cord, Radek pointed out the areas where Ronon should attach it to give the catapult arm its necessary tension. The Satedan merely nodded and went to work, obviously having figured it out already.

A few minutes later, Rodney scrambled to his feet, surprisingly agile for a man who consistently whined in protest against any demand for exercise. He looked over the finished construct critically, weighing, measuring, perfectionist eyes searching for any hidden flaws. He grinned when he couldn't find any. Rubbing his hands gleefully together, he looked upon the bag of ammunition with greedy eyes. "Who wants to go first?"

Ronon laughed. "I'm guessing you do, but I think we should let Zelenka go first."

"Why?" It was an unmistakable pout; a child being told that he must share his new toy with a sibling.

"Cause he couldn't do any of the building. He should at least get to try it out."

Rodney rubbed the back of his head, casting a jaundiced eye upon his fellow scientist. "Oh, fine," he huffed. "Just try not to hit anyone in the head this time."

Radek rolled his eyes and reached eagerly for a cannonball. Centering it precisely in the middle of the platform, he grabbed the lever Rodney had built into the side of the catapult and gave it a push. The flexible bands released with a twang, sending the mechanical arm forward and flinging the small projectile toward the miles-wide ocean before them. The bespectacled scientist crowed with glee, delighted with the success of their creation.

They reset the machine and first Rodney, then Ronon gave it a try, critically measuring the distance achieved and arguing over whose shot had gone the farthest.

"Not powerful enough," Ronon declared, nose wrinkling as he squinted out over the sun sparkled waves. "It has to be stronger if we're going to get any distance."

Rodney agreed. "We're just not getting enough tension on the pulley. If the enemy was storming our castle, they'd be halfway up the wall by now."

"Is there anything we can do to increase the tension?" Radek asked, eyeing the handmade device doubtfully.

Ronon shot him a questioning look as McKay, rather than answering verbally, threw himself down next to the machine and start tinkering again. "Should we . . .?"

"Let him play," Radek advised, lounging back against the balcony railing and making himself comfortable. "Trust me, it will go faster if we do not interfere."

The big man grunted and copied his pose. They watched for several minutes in companionable silence, exchanging amused glances every so often as Rodney grumbled, swore and made occasional sounds of epiphany, only to start growling again a moment later. Finally, he sat up, looking surprised to find that he had an audience. "What, are you just going to stand there? Help me straighten this thing back out." He had been twisting the catapult in incremental inches as he worked on it, until it had become almost completely turned around. "C'mon, I want to see if this works."

Eager to assist, Radek grabbed another cannonball and stepped forward. Unfortunately, he failed to notice the screwdriver Rodney had set down on the deck until he landed on it. Fumbling for balance, he dropped the ball onto the ammunition platform and reached out for something to steady himself. It was just bad luck that he landed on the catapult lever.

The arm released so suddenly that all three builders fell back in alarm, only to watch with open mouths and horrified eyes as the metal projectile shot into the air with at least three times as much force as any of their previous attempts, flying high and fast toward the control tower.

Protected by an energy shield, the majestic glass walls of the Atlantis control tower had survived unscathed for millennia. It had taken three bored men with a handmade catapult just over an hour to change that statistic.

Three sets of eyes squeezed shut and three sets of shoulders raised in an instinctive flinch at the sound of glass shattering high above them followed by a shriek of alarm. A moment later, Elizabeth Weir's astonished face popped out of the new hole in her office wall and looked around for the source of the disturbance. The moment she saw them, her eyes narrowed.

Self preservation immediately kicked in. Ronon and Radek both pointed to Rodney and endeavored to look blameless. Rodney's eyes went as wide as saucers. "I didn't do it!" he squeaked. "Radek's the one who tripped!"

"Well you're the one who left his tools lying around, and you're the one who gave the catapult more power!"

Rodney pointed an accusing finger at Ronon. "Only because he told me to!"

Ronon snorted. "Right, 'cause you always do what you're told."

"Enough!" Elizabeth shouted, bringing contrite silence to all three. "In my office, all three of you. Now!"

They leapt to obey.

"We are in so much trouble," moaned Rodney.

The other two culprits could not disagree.


	6. The Principal's Office

Elizabeth had been more startled than angry when the window of her office was shattered. A flash of fear had run through her at the sight of the small metal projectile, thinking it a bomb or some sort of previously unseen Wraith attack method. A moment later, seeing that it had not exploded, released poison gas or done anything more malevolent than roll to a stop beneath her guest-chair, she had taken a closer look and identified the object as being from the small cache of arms received in an early trade mission. She had poked her head outside, looking for the source of the 'attack' and somehow, it had not surprised her to see Ronon Dex, Rodney McKay and Radek Zelenka looking back at her.

Now, waiting for the men to arrive, she worked to compose her features into a stern, impassive mask. They would expect her to be angry at the destruction and perhaps disappointed by their reckless behavior, and she was, a little. The problem was that she had been struggling not to laugh ever since she had witnessed their guilty faces and attempts to pass the blame onto each other.

The effort to maintain a straight face grew even more difficult when the trio arrived. They looked like nothing so much as naughty children caught doing something they shouldn't. She wondered at the bruises all three were sporting, noticing that Radek had his left hand clasped protectively around the right wrist, which was in a brace. The Czech's eyes were fixed upon the carpet under his feet and he was shuffling his weight nervously from side to side. Rodney had his arms crossed over his chest; his chin raised in what would have been a defiant attitude had his expressive blue eyes not been shining with anxiety, embarrassment and honest regret. Ronon stood at attention, eyes fixed upon a point over her shoulder; the seasoned soldier ready to accept whatever due discipline she chose to mete out.

"Care to explain yourselves, gentlemen?" she asked calmly.

Unsurprisingly, Ronon remained silent. Radek looked up, opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head. Both of them looked at Rodney, who scowled, realizing that he had been left holding the bag.

"It's your fault, you know," he blurted.

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "My fault?"

"Yes. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty to do today, but you insisted that I needed to take more time off and you're the one who ordered me. _Ordered _me," he repeated, emphasizing the words with a wave of his hand, "to start working out with Ronon. And then Radek joined us, and you can see how well _that_ turned out! So, when Carson released us from the infirmary we got some lunch. Did you know the mess hall staff is trying to poison me, by the way? This is the third time in the last seven days that they've served something citrus based for the main entrée. You should really look into that. So anyway, we decided to watch a movie, which was fine, good, decent way to kill an afternoon when you're not allowed to do anything useful, no matter how badly it may be needed, but then the movie ended and these two were bored and I figured they'd just get into trouble if I didn't go along to keep an eye on them, so I suggested we build a catapult out on the dock."

"A catapult," she interrupted quickly as he paused to take a breath. "You built a catapult and just thought it would be fun to shoot cannonballs at my office?"

Reminded that he was not the injured party here, Rodney's eyes widened again. "No, no, no, no, we didn't! I mean we did, but that was an accident. We were shooting at the water, only the catapult didn't have enough tension to get a really good shot and Ronon wanted more power, so I fixed it, only we didn't get it turned back around before Dr. Fumbles here fell over his own feet for the second time today," he gestured absently at the purpled lump on his forehead, "and fired without any directional calculation, so the ammunition sort of took off on its own, and, um . . . well, you know the rest."

Rodney fell silent, squirming a little as all three of the others glared at him for his attempts to shift the blame. In an unusually meek tone, he added, "Sorry."

Elizabeth waited a beat, making certain there was nothing anyone wanted to add, then sighed. "Well, the damage is done, so all that's left to do is try and fix it."

Sensing a reprieve, Radek volunteered, "There are many uninhabited areas around Atlantis that have undamaged glass panes. I would be most happy to take a team down to recover one of them and supervise the replacement of your window."

"I'll clear up the damaged glass in here," Ronon offered.

More reluctantly, Rodney suggested, "I guess I'd better dismantle the catapult before anyone gets hurt."

This time, Elizabeth allowed her smile to show. "All very good ideas. And when you're done with that, I would like all three of you to report to the mess hall. Sergeant Menlo could use some help preparing tonight's dinner. They can always use servers and dishwashers down there as well. I'll let her know she's got three volunteers."

Gaping with outrage, Rodney was reduced to incoherent sputtering. Ronon and Radek looked no happier with their punishment, but realized that they were getting off easily. A harsher base C.O. might have thrown them in the brig for committing an act of vandalism, however unintentional. Grabbing McKay by both arms, his two fellow culprits hauled him out of the office just as he began to get his voice working again.

"This is so not fair!"

"Look at it this way, Rodney," Elizabeth called after them. "At least now you can make sure there isn't any citrus on the menu."

As the door closed behind them, Dr. Elizabeth Weir finally gave in to the urge she had been fighting for the last ten minutes and laughed until her sides grew sore.


	7. The Horror of Hair Nets

Disassembling the catapult was much simpler than putting it together had been. Just unhook a couple of bands, remove the screws and stack the pieces neatly in a pile for later disposal. It should have taken all of five minutes, but Rodney lingered over the task, removing each piece as delicately as if he thought it might explode if handled too roughly. He managed to use up twenty minutes on the task, then devoted another ten to transporting the piles to his quarters. He told himself reasonably that they hadn't actually been ordered to destroy the catapult so it could probably be reassembled and made use of again at a later time. They would just need to find a more sensible location in which to try it out.

When the job was finally complete, Rodney wandered through the labs near his quarters, vainly hoping to find something that would absolutely require his personal attention. There was nothing. His staff was humming along in a hive of happy productivity. No emergencies, no fires to put out, not a single vital research consultation to be had.

He huffed unhappily. There was simply no justice in a galaxy that yanked him away from sleep, meals and important personal projects nearly every day of the week, but could not produce so much as one measly chemical fire when he really needed one.

"Rodney McKay, report to the Mess Hall immediately. Rodney McKay, report to the Mess Hall immediately."

Rodney jumped as the firm order came over his earpiece. He scowled, realizing that he was tuned in to the public broadcast band. That meant everyone wearing a radio headset would have heard that. If he didn't go, someone would surely be sent to track him down and escort him. And then every person in Atlantis would know that their mega-genius astrophysicist had been temporarily demoted to kitchen boy.

Tapping his earpiece, he allowed every ounce of the irritation he felt to ooze into his voice as he replied, "I'm on my way."

~*~*~*~*~

"Nice of you to join us," Zelenka greeted dryly as Rodney slunk past the few occupants of the commissary and made his way into the kitchen. The Czech was chopping vegetables, holding them in place with his injured right hand while carefully, if somewhat clumsily, chopping with the left.

Rodney froze, eyes bulging as he got a good look at his fellow detainees. He was not quite sure whether he wanted to laugh or run screaming in terror. He had realized the possibility of aprons, gloves and any number of unpleasant tasks that might be required before he could escape. He had not even considered that he might be required to wear, "A hair net?"

Zelenka self-consciously adjusted the sterile paper covering that surrounded his wild brown hair. "It is not sanitary to handle food for the public without one."

"What's the big deal?" Ronon grunted, biceps bulging as he hauled up the enormous pot of water and peeled root vegetables he had been working on and set it on the stove behind him. His long dreadlocks were also encased in a net, but somehow the embarrassing item actually flattered him.

Rodney chalked up another point on the scorecard of galactic injustice.

"I am not wearing that," he said flatly, staring down the amused-looking Sergeant Judy Menlo who was holding out a small package. "I'm not."

Menlo eyed him calmly and Rodney squirmed. The Sergeant was in her middle years, squarely built and just barely over the minimum height requirement for the U.S. military. She had kind blue eyes, a ready smile and a motherly appearance. She always made him feel a bit uneasy, though he could not deny that she was a terrific cook. It was that look she had, like she just might pinch his cheek and offer him a cookie if she thought he'd been a good boy, or whack his knuckles with a spoon if he hadn't. Right now, the spoon seemed far more likely.

"I can't cook," he offered, defensively backing up a step as she advanced on him with the net. "Burnt bread, sticky pasta, mushy vegetables, half raw meat, is that really what you want? I'm not even a good peeler, wound up in the infirmary with two skinned knuckles last time I did it. You want blood in your mashed yaro-roots tonight?"

"He's not lying," Ronon offered, a small derisive snort escaping. "Anything more complicated than heating an MRE and he's downright dangerous."

Rodney would normally have been insulted by any such slight to his skills but now he was happy for the negative support and nodded so hard his head looked like it might fly off his shoulders.

"See? Even Ronon thinks I'm incompetent and he'll eat anything!" A pleading note entered his voice. "C'mon, Sarge, have a heart. I'll wash dishes, I'll bus tables, I'll even mop the damned floors if that's what you want."

Reaching past him, Menlo hefted a large box into her arms and shoved it into Rodney's hands. "Trays, cutlery, napkins," she said crisply. "Even stacks, separate the forks, knives and spoons into individual piles. After that, come back and get the fresh fruit, jello cups, milk cartons, and orange juice bottles and set them in ice in the appropriate bins. You'll need to keep an eye on all of it as people move through the lines to make sure nothing runs out. If it does, refill it."

The triumphant smile Rodney wore began to fade and the amusement of his friends grew when the task list continued.

"As people finish eating and leave, they'll put their discarded trays in the bins next to the garbage. As those become full, you'll need to change out the trash and recycling bags and haul the full ones down to the waste disposal center. You'll probably have to do that twice, once in the middle of shift and again at the end. In the meantime, don't let the dirty trays stack up more than fifteen or twenty high. Just pick up the stacks and put them in the big dishwasher down at the end." She pointed to indicate which one she meant. "It'll hold around 75 trays if you load it properly. The next one over is for cups, glasses and silverware. There are always a few stragglers showing up at odd hours day or night, but the main body of diners will be finished by twenty-hundred, at which time you'll wash down all of the tables and straighten the chairs. Understood?"

Fighting the ridiculous urge to salute, he did straighten his spine and stand at something very close to military attention. The challenge in the little woman's eyes was unmistakable. She smiled and wiggled the box containing the hair net, clearly inviting him to make his choice. Either wear the awful thing and admit defeat, though likely getting an easier list of tasks in reward, or stand his ground and let the Sergeant publicly run him ragged all evening.

He could see Radek and Ronon grinning as they waited to see what he would do. Ronon leaned down and whispered something to the Czech that got a head shake and a smug look in return.

"If I do this, I get whatever I want out of the food stores when I'm finished," Rodney negotiated, "Including real coffee and at least one dessert of my choice."

Sergeant Menlo considered the demand. "My kitchen staff always gets first dibs on fresh desserts. You do your work, no shirking and no whining about unfair treatment, and I'll make sure you get your fair share."

"It better not be lemon pie or anything like that," he growled, remembering his earlier complaint to Weir. "You've been serving way too much of that stuff lately and you know I can't eat any of it."

"No?"

She looked honestly surprised and Rodney's eyes narrowed, considering. Menlo had come through with a wave of replacement personnel on the Daedalus recently. Carson usually tried to make sure the kitchen staff had access to information on food allergies among the Atlantis staff, but the doctor _had_ been pretty busy lately. "Deathly allergic to any kind of citrus. You really didn't know?"

"I'm sorry, I had no idea. I'll make certain there's always another option available," she promised.

Rodney could almost see her making a mental note of it and a tense coil in his stomach loosened. Hefting the box of trays he still held, he gave her a tight smile. "Then we have a deal."

"You still have to wear the apron and gloves," she told him firmly. "Things get a little messy around here, even for those who aren't food-handlers and cooks, and I insist that everyone be protected from splashes and spills."

Setting his burden on the counter, Rodney accepted the heavy black full length apron, slipping it over his head and tying it into place. Picking out several pairs of latex gloves from the box, he stuffed them in the apron's pockets before pulling a pair over his hands with the familiar ease of someone who has spent the majority of his life poking around laboratories. Without a word, he picked up the box again and left to begin setting up for dinner.

"Unbelievable," Radek stated, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "We are all three being punished for something that was Rodney's idea to begin with and he still ends up getting his own way."

"Told you he would," Ronon grunted, hefting another pot onto the stove top. "He's stubborn."

Radek sighed gustily and went back to chopping. There was no argument for that one.

Menlo chuckled. "As soon as everything is ready to go, you two will be done. My regular staff will handle the serving chores and clean-up. If Dr. McKay had been a little less stubborn about the protective gear he'd have been finished early as well."

Mollified by the reminder, Radek's mood improved at once. "I will be sure to remind him of that . . . regularly."

"I don't get it," Ronon remarked, gesturing at his hair net. "The first time I ever saw McKay he was wearing a bright orange plastic suit and hanging upside down. Doesn't seem too concerned about how he looks the rest of the time either. What's so bad about this?"

"It's not very dignified," Radek explained, "and it probably conjures up memories of high school cafeterias. They can be quite frightening places, especially when a person does not fit in well with other students."

As the dinner preparation continued, Radek did his best to explain to an interested Ronon Dex the various horrors associated with adolescent education on Earth.


	8. A Good Day After All

Ronon and Radek had long since eaten by the time Rodney was finished with his chore list, but they remained in the mess hall to offer support. To the amusement of Ronon and the amazement of Radek, their partner in crime had gone about his assigned duties without offering more then a few stinging retorts toward diners who dared to mock the sight of a brilliant scientist emptying garbage cans and clearing tables.

Rodney proved to be a surprisingly efficient worker and when he was finished, Sergeant Menlo offered her sincere thanks for a job well done. Pleased that she had kept her end of the bargain, Rodney took his meal out to the table where his friends were waiting and dug in with gusto.

"Where did you learn to do all that?" Radek asked him, gesturing broadly around the hall to take in the clean, tidily arranged serving areas and tables. "Not that it is difficult, but I am quite certain that I was observing experience in action."

Reluctantly, he admitted, "I worked in a restaurant for a while during my University days. The owner could only afford a few helpers, and he did the cooking himself, so we took turns doing everything else: bussing tables, waiting on customers, clean-up, the works. It wasn't the greatest job, but he was a nice old guy and he paid me enough for books and expenses; the occasional night out."

Radek smiled. "I did a University exchange program in the States during my Junior year. I took employment as a package delivery courier. It was somewhat difficult as I did not have a very good grasp of English and had trouble reading the street signs."

"Hope you weren't living on tips," Rodney scoffed.

Not admitting anything, he added, "I quit that job quickly and moved on to, how do you call it? Fast food?"

Eyes lighting up with glee, Rodney said, "You want fries with that?"

"It wasn't hamburgers, actually. It was Kentucky Fried chicken. I used to amuse myself trying to figure out the so-called 'secret formula'."

Rodney snorted a laugh and took another mouthful of the mashed root vegetables with gravy and the fried whatever-fowl that had been served with it. "KFC would be nice," he mused. "Because whatever this bird the Athosians found on the mainland is, it's definitely a long way from chicken." He washed down the food with a slurp of coffee, then took another slower sip and heaved a blissful sigh. No decaffeinated, watered down, crystalline pseudo coffee crap here; this was the good stuff. The all too rare fresh-ground ambrosia that he'd been craving like a drug addict after a fix.

"Stew was good tonight," Ronon commented. "Thick and filling, the way it should be, not watered down to almost soup in order to make it stretch far enough to feed everyone."

Rodney paused in the act of sopping up gravy with a thick slice of bread. "That happen a lot where you're from?"

"Often enough."

Radek nodded. "We had our share of such meals when I was growing up. Too many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around." He smiled wistfully. "My mother always made certain we had something in our stomachs, though, even if she had to go hungry herself in order to do it. It made life a particular pleasure when I earned scholarships enough to go to school, and was able to get a job rich enough to provide for them."

The Czech squirmed a bit when he realized that Rodney was staring at him, his expression difficult to read.

"Are you trying to guilt me out of this?" Rodney asked after several seconds of intensively studying his colleague. He pulled the large beautiful slab of chocolate cake that was sitting next to his tray a little closer. "'Cause it's not going to work. I'm not going to give you my very-well-earned dessert, just because you tell me you had a crappy childhood."

He scowled. "I wasn't suggesting you should."

Rodney wrapped a protective arm around the cake plate as if to shield it from their predatory eyes. "I've seen how much you eat, Radek," he snorted, shoveling in the last few bites of his dinner. "It's no wonder everybody else in your family went hungry. They probably didn't have time to grab anything before you ate it all."

Radek pulled himself up straighter, ready to fire back, but stopped when he noticed that Ronon was laughing. "What?"

"He's got a point, Doc," the Satedan chuckled. "I been watching you today and I don't know where you put it all."

Radek blushed, a sheepish smile creasing his cheeks. "I am a growing boy?" he tried.

Ronon stood, hauling the surprised scientist to his feet and draped a heavy arm over his shoulders. The top of Radek's head was barely level with the warrior's chest. "Explains a lot," he grunted, giving the small man a squeeze, then a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent him tumbling over the table. "I gotta go. See you both in the gym day after tomorrow for another sparring session."

Having been enjoying the exchange up to this point, Rodney looked up in alarm, a forkful of cake held suspended in front of his gaping mouth. "What?"

Ronon's brow rose. "One lesson isn't gonna do you much good, 'specially since you didn't even finish it. You need to keep training at least a couple times a week. Three or four would be better."

Radek grimaced but said, "He is right, Rodney. Even scientists keep experimenting until we achieve the desire results."

"Shut up," Rodney snapped. When Radek held up his hands in surrender, he turned back to Ronon and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You want me to show up and become your practice dummy three times a week, but what do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

He pondered the question for less than a second. "I want you to meet me in the Control Room the next time there are no off world missions scheduled. I'm going to teach you how to disassemble and reassemble a DHD. I'll reprogram it, _break_ it if you will, in a controlled environment and you will learn how to put it back into a proper working configuration. We'll keep working until you get it right, then a few days later, we'll do it again until I'm satisfied that you can do the job right, every time. After that, I'll drill you until you can reprogram and reassemble a DHD in less than fifteen minutes. Then I'll think of something else."

Ronon studied his face closely. A sly smile tilted the crooked mouth, just daring him to protest. "I'm not stupid, McKay."

"If I thought you were, I wouldn't be suggesting this."

The warrior paused, noting the seriousness shining in the scientist's blue eyes. It spoke of the same life-and-death need that had provoked Ronon to suggest physical combat training for the science staff to Weir. He nodded. "Fair enough. What about him?"

Rodney gave Radek a dismissive shrug and returned to attacking his dessert. "He's not a bad student. He can help you with your homework."

Just for that, Radek Zelenka shot out his left hand and snagged the uneaten portion of Rodney's chocolate cake, stuffing it in his mouth before his superior could get it back. "I will see you tomorrow," he garbled, grabbing Ronon and beating a hasty retreat.

"Hey!" For a moment, Rodney considered giving chase, but there was really no point. The cake was already gone. He look sorrowfully at his empty plate, then picked it up and headed back into the kitchen.

~*~*~*~*~

Teyla Emmagen and John Sheppard walked into the mess hall in search of a late-night snack, and found the room empty except for one lone figure seated at a table near the kitchen.

Teyla gently shook the shoulder of the man sleeping with his cheek pillowed upon one hand, the other clutched around an empty fork, which was still lifted over a plate of half eaten cake. "Rodney?"

He came awake with a gasp, nearly stabbing John with the fork as he flailed his arm in surprise. "Wha-?"

She smiled. "Do not be alarmed. I merely woke you to suggest you return to your quarters to sleep."

Rodney blinked and rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. "What time is it?"

"Just after midnight," John told him, taking a seat. "We just got back from the mainland."

"Why so late?" he asked around a yawn. "I thought you just went for a council meeting."

Teyla nodded. "It is not often that I have a chance to socialize with my people. There was no pressing need for a quick return so we stayed and talked far into the evening."

Seeing the smile on Sheppard's face, Rodney smirked, "You were telling bad ghost stories to the kids again, weren't you?"

"Some people like my ghost stories," he said airily. "Looks like you managed to find some trouble without us around to keep an eye on you. Anything I should know about?"

He gestured to his forehead, reminding Rodney of the colorful bruise he still sported. Rodney pressed the spot gently. "Head-butted Ronon."

"And you're still alive? I'm impressed."

"It was an accident," he sighed, realizing that he might as well tell them the whole story before they heard a more colorfully augmented version from someone else. Any unusual event around Atlantis had a tendency to become instant grist for the gossip mill. Sheppard and Teyla were soon laughing as the tale unfolded and Rodney found himself seeing it all in a humorous light as well, now that it was over. "So after Radek stole my dessert I managed to sweet-talk the Sergeant into giving me another piece, but the day sort of caught up to me while I was eating it."

Teyla smiled fondly. "And that is why we found you here, asleep."

"Pretty much." He shrugged and then winced, feeling his unusual day's activity in every single sinew. God, he was going to be too sore to move by morning. "Ow."

Sheppard chuckled heartlessly. "C'mon, Teyla. Let's get the weekend warrior to his quarters while he can still walk. We'll come back and see if Menlo has any more cake stashed around here later." He stood and grabbed Rodney by the arm, levering him to his feet. "Upsy-Daisy, Rodney."

"Up your daisy," Rodney muttered, and then groaned when his stiff body twinged and creaked in protest as his friends steadied him and gave him an escort out of the mess hall. Moving seemed like a very bad idea but he managed to keep his uncooperative body going forward with the reminder that a hot soothing shower was only minutes away, and that there would be a nice soft bed waiting just a few feet beyond that.

As he listened with only partial attention to John and Teyla chattering about how much they had enjoyed their day on the mainland, Rodney considered his own day off and struggled not to smile. He would never admit it to anyone, but even with having suffered bruises, a lecture and the indignity of kitchen duty, he had had a lot of fun today.

And more importantly, he now knew where Menlo hid the coffee stash!

THE END

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story. :)


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